


Buttercups Over Tea

by AnPresonPeepul



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, F/M, Flowers, Food that has been bad, Healing Magic, I'm not afraid of your canon ships, Lewd hand-holding, Maribelle being unpleasant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romantic Comedy, Sharing A Tent, getting sick, snappy comebacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23995759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnPresonPeepul/pseuds/AnPresonPeepul
Summary: Maribelle thought she was the last person who could be left for dead. Surely someone of her standing would be fairly hard to miss, and yet she found herself injured and completely lost, left to share a tent with some brute. Rescue could not come soon enough! But there was no harm in making the best of her situation while she waited, was there?
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10





	1. Delirious as a Daffodil

The smell of blood was what woke her. Maribelle hadn't even realized she was unconscious, only that the sharp and metallic scent pierced through the haze over her mind, rousing her back into the world.

The first thing she noticed as she opened her eyes was the sky overhead, and white streaks swept across it. A breeze tickled her cheek, rustling leaves as it passed over her. Her backside felt cold and damp, seeping through her clothes and leaving the skin beneath slick. As her eyes trailed down, she noted with minor disgust that her frilly pink robes were smeared with dirt and grass.

 _How long has it been?_ she thought, and her brows pulled down into a frown. Already, an orange glow had begun to overtake the sky. A chill crawled over her skin as the evening set in around her.

 _It was the afternoon, last I remember. Whatever happened to that?_ Groaning, Maribelle tried to drag into a sitting position.

Pain shot up her leg. She let out a pained hiss, and when she looked down, she saw blood pooling under her, dripping out onto the grass from a gash running across her thigh. The cloth at her hip lay in tatters.

Then it all came back to her. A skirmish with the Grimleal in north-east Valm. Running in to save someone. Something slamming into her. Being thrown down a hill and tumbling into the forest. Hitting her head.

And now, waking up here.

What disturbed her the most was the fact that she was still lying on the grass, possibly hours after the battle had passed.

 _Did... did they forget about me?_ Maribelle thought. _Surely someone, anyone would have cared enough to bring me back with them?_

The silence all around her told her a different story. In the distance, she could hear the sound of crickets rise into the air, and as seconds turned to minutes, her worry only grew.

She attempted to rise again. This time, she tried pushing off the ground, managing to prop herself up without too much struggle. She rubbed the back of her head, grumbling as she did. Through her tangle of blonde hair, she felt something wet slip over her fingers, and when she brought away her hand, she found it covered in red.

_Is this my fate? To bleed out in the middle of nowhere, lost and alone, forsaken by my only friends? I wasn't good enough for anyone but my dear Lissa, and now I'm not even good enough for her to remember me?_

There was only one thing she could do. Shedding her dignity and tossing it into the trees, Maribelle cleared her throat.

"Help!" she shouted. "Somebody help me!"

A few seconds passed. There was no response. She scowled, and she opened her mouth to call out again.

To her right, she heard the leaves rustle. She turned, hope flaring in her chest. It could have been the wind, but it could have also been movement, and when she saw a familiar figure step out from behind a tree, she had to hold back a cry of relief.

With a cape that fluttered behind him as he approached her and the sword at his side, it would be nearly impossible to mistake who it was.

"Chrom!" A warm feeling bubbled in her chest, and she was half-tempted to jump to her feet. "You returned for me–"

Then he stepped into the light, and her face fell as the warm feeling died an ugly death. Somehow she'd managed to make the almost impossible mistake.

"You're not Chrom," she said, keeping her voice flat to hide her disappointment. Or was it disdain?

"Who's to say I'm not?" the man before her asked.

"You look nothing like him."

Taking a closer look, not even she could guess why she had been fooled in the first place, even in the low light. His face was much too thin, pinched together like a sour taste lingered in his mouth, and the sword at his hip was no Falchion. He carried himself with a steady strut like a dancer, and his wavy brown hair bore no resemblance to the mop of blue atop Chrom's head.

He was clearly no Chrom, and she had never seen this man with the Shepherds. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling she'd seen him before.

To herself, she murmured, "Well, it's not as if I have any options, do I?"

"You look like you could lose–er, use a hand, missy," the man said, and he offered her a hand to help her to her feet.

Maribelle narrowed her eyes. Not that she didn't appreciate the gesture–she wasn't an ungrateful brute, thank you very much–but it wasn't as if she could do anything about it, not with the cut running down her leg.

"What is this, some crude practical joke?" she said. "You can't expect me to stand with my leg like this!"

His eyes drifted down to the wound on her leg.

"Ah! How foolish of me," the man said. "It must have slipped through my notice."

Maribelle rolled her eyes. "Yes. How utterly foolish."

The man licked his lips. "What's someone of your standing doing out here, away from the flock? Where are your guards, or attendants, or... perhaps comrades in arms?"

"No. They've all left me for dead, it seems."

"A shame. I would have loved to eat–I mean meet them."

Maribelle caught the reflection of her raised eyebrow on the hilt of the man's sword. She only had just enough time to correct it before his bony hand came down to cover it.

From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. Another man stepped out from the forest, clad in plain blue armor with flowing, olive-colored hair. The second his eyes fell on her, they widened. Maribelle met his gaze, her look pleading, and he nodded, a silent message passing between them.

Rather quick for a commoner to be on the uptake, she'd admit.

"What are you looking for?" the first man said, and he started to follow his gaze.

"Nothing!" Maribelle's voice almost rose to a shriek, desperate to keep his eyes on her. It worked, and he stopped turning. "I simply have something in my eye. It's just..." She faked a sniffle, suppressing her urge to gag. "I'm so relieved someone came to help me. I thought I would die all alone."

"Oh, I'm not here to help you, missy."

The rasp of his sword masked the second man's approach. Maribelle let her eyes grow wide, and she watched him close in.

Leaves crunched underfoot. Maribelle tried to pull herself back again. The pain in her leg cried out in protest. Had she moved, she might have more time to watch as the man's sword raised into the air, its edge gleaming wickedly in the air.

In the end, she had to work with what she had, didn't she?

"You're not very alert, are you?" she said.

The man's brows furrowed, and he snarled. "What do you mean?"

"Look behind you, you dolt!"

"Behind me? Hah. You think I'd fall for that, you noble bra–urk."

The bandit's eyes fell to his chest just in time to see the tip of a sword pierce through. He coughed once, blood splashing out from the wound in his chest.

Maribelle shrieked as red splattered over her pink dress.

"Watch it!" she said, the last traces of her patience slipping away. "You just ruined my favorite dress!"

"Ah. My apologies," her savior said. "What do you say we hit the town after this, and I'll buy you a brand new one, buttercup?" He swept his sword to the side, and as the body dislodged itself, it tumbled to the side.

On any other day, she might have had the strength to play along. As she was, cold and wet, her hair and now her dress smeared with blood, the retort came out in an instant. "It's going to take a lot more than a new dress to impress me."

"How about saving your life, then?"

"Not like that. Couldn't you have, I don't know, stabbed him from the side or something?"

"In a perfect world? Absolutely. But you're unharmed, and that's good enough for me."

At his raised eyebrow, Maribelle growled. "Good enough for a rapscallion, perhaps." She ran her hand over the growing red stains on her dress, and when it made a wet squelch, she shuddered. "I can't go back looking like this!"

A ragged cough came from beside him. "Lord Grima," the bandit rasped between shallow breaths, "avenge me–"

Maribelle silenced him with a swift kick. "Shut up! I'm talking here!" His head snapped back, and, to her satisfaction, he spoke no more.

"Now," she said, turning back to the man, "as I was saying–what are you doing?"

The man glanced up from where he had knelt down by her side. "What does it look like? I'm helping you up." He paused, and his smirk faltered. "That is what it looks like, right?"

"I wouldn't know what else it would look like, but helping me up is the last thing that comes to mind. Besides, I don't recall asking for your help."

"Well I thought a lovely lady as yourself might not appreciate being left to die alone."

"And there's another thing!" She raised an accusing finger at him. "I don't appreciate all that incessant flirting."

"What's the matter? Never had someone compliment your beautiful face? Because if not, I'd say your friends have poor taste."

"I'm married!" She wasn't, but he wouldn't know that, would he?

For a moment, she thought she saw uncertainty flash across his face. It was gone before she could make sense of it, hastily covered by that infuriating smirk of his, like the finality of her tone amused him.

"It's never stopped me before."

Maribelle did a double-take. "That is hardly proper!" she shouted. On second thought, she should have hardly expected anything different, especially from a commoner. Not everyone had the same standards as her.

The man had no reply to that. It showed he had, at the very least, some standards. His stupid grin remained, though, so it hardly painted a better picture.

"Well, I suppose since you are here, and you did save me, you're the only one I can ask for help."

"Are you asking right now?"

"Of course!"

The man chuckled. He reached out for her again, only to pause inches away. An uncertain look crossed his face. At first, Maribelle thought she'd just imagined it, but he really did seem to be unsure of whether to follow through.

"What are you waiting for? I'm not going to bite!"

"It's just... I've never done this kind of thing before."

Maribelle huffed. "Oh please. It's not all that different from carrying cattle or pigs, or any other livestock you have lying around."

"Sunshine. I'm a mercenary, not a cattle-herd."

"Well you must have been raised somewhere, and I doubt mercenary parents would have a stable place to raise a child of their own."

For some reason, the man felt it necessary to give her a flat stare. She saw little point in mulling it over. Whatever he didn't know, he didn't know, so it fell on her to keep him from mucking it up.

"One arm under the knees, one arm around the back." Keeping one hand under her to hold her up, she motioned for him forward. "It's so simple, a boy half your age could probably do it. Chop chop!"

The man complied, strangely silent as he slid his arms under her. Maribelle would have expected some crude compliment about her legs or her back or, if he was desperate enough, her blood, but to her surprise, he didn't speak.

It wasn't as if she was about to spur him out of it, though.

"Now, lift me up slowly, and for Naga's sake, lift with your legs! If I hear one comment about how you pulled your back from my weight, I will strangle you, my survival be damned."

After a few seconds of him awkwardly struggling, he finally managed to find a firm hold on her. It took a bit longer than she expected, but when she tried to ask him about it, he refused to meet her eyes.

"So..." he said, shuffling his feet. "Where should I take you?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but she stopped herself. She hadn't thought this far ahead. She glanced down at the wound in her leg, still bright red.

All the blood loss must be marring her sense of judgment.

"Where is the nearest town?"

"A day's walk from here." He paused, before he added, "Though that might be a little far."

"Then surely you must have a camp a little closer to here?"

"Well, yes. But–"

"I don't want to hear it! Once we get there, I can patch myself up, and we'll never have to see each other again."

The man didn't speak. Maribelle looked up at him, growing impatient. In his eyes, she saw conflicting emotions flash between them, his face glowing pink in the evening sun.

In the end, he gave a resigned sigh. "I'll take you to my camp, but may I ask you to refrain from making any... sudden movements?"

"Oh, I'm sure you won't have to worry about that in an hour or so."

"Pardon?"

"You wouldn't understand. Just get on with it. The only thing going anywhere is my blood, which, if you didn't know, is not a good thing."

Being carried off into the forest by a stranger was not anything Maribelle would have ever wanted to do, but with the Shepherds off who knows where, she was out of options. Still, as the trees closed in around them, she wished she could have been found by someone with a little more grace.

"Ouch! Watch what you push my face into! I don't want to have to spit out leaves every other step you take!"

"Sorry. I told you before, I'm not exactly used to this. A little patience won't kill you, buttercup."

"With how much of my blood is on the forest floor, I don't think I'd want to take that chance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, I didn't think I'd find myself back here so soon.
> 
> I think I might have said something about doing a Smash fic for Saturday, but this one jumped out at me. Besides, I tried writing an opening for that one, and it just wasn't fun enough for me, so it's going to be some time before I get that done.
> 
> Why did I feel like pushing this particular ship? Well, firstly, I was disappointed that the children characters (aside from Nah and Lucina) can't support characters outside of their generation besides their parents, even platonically. That, and I just sort of rolled a die and came up with these two. (It's like a budget Virion x Maribelle, except with less flowery language and insecurities abound)
> 
> This is sort of a pet project of mine. While I won't hold back any effort, I don't plan on planning out this story. Like Hitting the Books, this is a stab at romance writing. Unlike Hitting the Books, I don't think I'll abide by any update schedule. This will get updated whenever I'm free.
> 
> If you thought my sense of humor is terrible, or if you think Little Mac is a viable character, feel free to share your thoughts. Or don't, whichever suits you. As always, I wish you all well, and stay safe.


	2. Tearing up the Tulips

It might have been hours before they reached the man's camp. Days, even. Keeping track of the time was the last thing on Maribelle's mind, but the one thing she knew was that, however long it was, it was much too long.

"Finally!" she said as a tent came into sight. "You walk much too slow!"

"You didn't think I'd drop such a pretty flower into the dirt, did you?" At the very least it had been long enough for the man to regain some of his confidence.

"If I'd gone any faster, I'd have dropped you, don't you remember?"

"Well, I don't remember. You must not have gone fast enough."

The man pursed his lips. "All that blood loss must be messing with your mind."

Maribelle huffed. "My mind is still quite put-together, thank you very much."

"Truly?" The man shifted her in his arms. "Then how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Six, obviously."

The man didn't speak, letting her put the pieces together for herself.

"Wait a minute!" Maribelle hissed. "You're still holding onto me, aren't you?"

"Don't worry, I haven't. I'm not the kind of man to let a girl down."

"I'd sure hope not."

She blinked.

"If you do that one more time–"

"I didn't mean to!" he said, brushing the tent flap aside. "Besides, we're here."

Maribelle felt the soft sheets wrap around her as the man lowered her into the mat laid out over the dirt with much more care than she expected. She'd have thought someone like him would be content with tossing her onto the mattress, and she was pleased that she wouldn't have to spend the next few minutes trying to stop her head from spinning.

Some of it must have shown on her face, since she saw his grin grow a little wider.

"Don't get used to it," she snapped. "I was simply surprised you were as gentle as you were."

"Of course," the man replied. "Girls do like a gentleman more than a man with edges."

Maribelle rolled her eyes. Now that he was no longer clutching her, he'd returned to being a flirt.

Personally, she'd have preferred the nervous wreck.

"Just get your medical supplies. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to."

"Are you sure I can't convince you to stay for tea, buttercup?"

"No thank you."

"Your loss, then." The man chuckled, and he slid his bag from his shoulders.

As he knelt to dig through his supplies, Maribelle let her head fall back onto the mattress. A sigh escaped her lips, and she shifted to make herself more comfortable. After having spent her afternoon lying on the cold, hard ground her sore back welcoming the embrace of soft straw and fabric. As much as she wanted to leave, she'd admit it would be a shame to have to get back onto her feet so soon.

If only she didn't have to deal with that scoundrel as well.

She shifted in the sheets again, the mattress crackling under her weight, when she brushed something cold and wet.

The first reaction that came to mind was screaming at the top of her lungs.

The man jumped, and he rushed to her side, his eyes wide. "What? What is it?"

"Why are your bedsheets wet?" she shrieked.

"Oh." His gaze flicked to the tent flap, before he turned back to her with a grin. "You know sunshine, after a day of hard work, I return to my camp bathed in sweat and–"

"Wait, nevermind. It's simply a leak in the tarp."

The man's face fell. This time, it was Maribelle's turn to smirk, and he turned back to his bag with a mutter. While he wasn't looking, Maribelle wiped her hand further down his sheet.

She settled back into the mattress, a content smile on her face. She was happy to lie there, waiting for the man to finish his search.

Her smile faltered when she heard him take a sharp breath.

She craned her neck to look at him. "What? What is it?"

"There might be a little hitch in your plan." The man returned her glare with a sheepish look, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Which is?"

"Okay. I'd like you to remain calm and–"

"You mangy, no-good, dog-spitting, disheveled pile of sopping cloth! You rag-chewing, dirt-smearing washboard! You udder-suckling, goat-milking, fire-breathing toothed chicken! You–"

"Woah there! I've yet to tell you what it is! Is all this name-calling needed?"

Maribelle snorted, and she turned her nose up. "Well, you said to stay calm, so I assumed it was very bad."

"It is very bad," the man said, giving her a sideways look, "which is exactly why you need to stay calm."

"That's a bit of a backward way of going about it, isn't it?"

"It could be. But if I did that, I'd never have any idea what was going on, and I'm sure you wouldn't want that. Not with your life on the line."

He had her there, as much as it pained her to admit.

"Very well, then." Maribelle waved a hand over her shoulder. "Spit it out."

The man looked her dead in the eyes. "I don't have any medical supplies."

...

Maribelle quirked an eyebrow. "That's not so bad."

"What?" The man's jaw almost hit the floor. "Buttercup, as much as I admire tenacity in a girl, you're life may depend on this."

"It does?" Maribelle coughed. "Wait, did you say you didn't have _medical supplies_?"

"I did."

She furrowed her brows. "Maybe that blood loss is meddling with my thoughts. That's terrible news."

"I didn't have enough for them! I assumed they wouldn't be needed!"

She grit her teeth, and an insult bubbled up in her throat. It boiled for a bit, then faded into a simmer, until it vanished completely.

"Dammit. I used all my good insults before, and now I can't think of any new ones," she murmured.

The man, on the other hand, had more of a reaction than her. "Oh gods," he said, running a hand down his face. "I can't let you die. I came back to save people. What can I do, what can I do?"

"You can start by giving me your shirt."

"M-my what?"

"The piece of clothing you wear over the upper half of your body." Maribelle raised an eyebrow at his rapidly reddening face. "I'm sure a refined ladies' man such as yourself would have no problem showing a bit of skin to a... what was it you said? A pretty flower like me?"

"I called you buttercup."

"Do you mean to imply that buttercups aren't pretty?"

"Of course not! Their petals are the most beautiful shade of yellow, and they have such a pleasant scent."

"If you're not talking about the flower, I will haul myself over there and beat some sense into that thick skull of yours."

"...I'll just take off my shirt now."

What little armor the man had clattered to the floor. She heard the rustling of cloth, then heard him curse. She glanced over just in time to see him pull his shirt over his head, revealing a well-toned chest that glistened in the last traces of sunlight.

The man cleared his throat. Maribelle raised her eyes from his chest to find a blue shirt dangling in front of her face. Curiously enough, the man seemed to find the entrance flap more interesting than her.

Maribelle huffed, thinking it a little strange. Still, she took his shirt and held it up over her, the sunlight seeping in through the tarp lighting it up in an orange glow.

"So," the man said, turning back to her, "you like what you see–hey! What are you doing?"

Maribelle leveled him with a flat look, her hands on the seam on his shoulder. "Since you clearly lack the brains to recognize when medical supplies are a necessity, I'm taking things into my own hands."

The sleeve ripped from its socket. Maribelle was on the other sleeve a second later.

"I didn't have any gold for medical supplies!" the man complained. "And I won't have any gold for a new shirt either!"

"Oh, hush. I'll buy you a new one."

"Really?" The man coughed, wiping the flustered look from his face. "Is that a date?"

Maribelle ripped his other sleeve off. "Don't get your hopes up."

She tossed the shirt back to the man. Taking her strips of cloth, she wrapped one around her leg, the other around her head. She pulled it tight and as she tucked it in, she caught the man staring.

"What are you looking at? Does something amuse you?"

"Not at all," the man said, and he shook his head. "Just... I don't think you've done it quite right."

"Of course I've got it right," Maribelle scoffed. "My mind is still quite sound. I think I can put on a bandage just fine, thank you very much."

To prove her point, she pushed herself off the bed. The bandage on her head came loose and fell over her eyes. Through gritted teeth, she let out a long hiss.

"Would you like my help?"

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

She tried to tie her bandages again, but her arms refused to let her maintain a steady grip. She cursed and grabbed one hand with the other in an attempt to steady her trembling fingers. Still, they refused to stop shaking.

"Allow me."

Firm hands wrapped around her bandages. Maribelle glanced up at the man, surprised. One at a time, he wrapped the bandages over her wounds, all while refusing to meet her curious gaze until with one final tug, he had them snugly fit.

Maribelle tugged at the cloth over her leg, then over her head. When they didn't budge, she turned to the man with a raised eyebrow.

"Quite the skilled hands you have," she remarked. "Not the clumsy fingers of someone of your standing, as I'd have thought."

"What can I say? A delicate flower calls for delicate care."

"Don't get any ideas, dolt. Your words are still as ham-fisted as ever."

The man laughed for a bit. "Well, now that you've got your wounds dressed up, what's the plan?"

"You'd better not be planning on leaving me here."

"Oh no, I was thinking I'd take you out for dinner in the next village over."

"Dinner? You said you wouldn't be able to buy clothes for yourself. How do you think you'd be able to buy me dinner?" Maribelle scoffed. "And don't think of trying to ask me to pay. If you want to take me out, you'd have to pay for yourself."

"I wasn't planning to. What do you take me for, some ill-mannered scoundrel?"

"I'd hope not. As much as I'd have hoped for someone else, right now you're my only chance of ever returning to civilization alive."

"You flatter me."

"You flatter yourself, more like. Now, are you going to stand there or what? We have a town to get to."

The man glanced out the tent flap, his eyes narrowed. "You want to leave? This late into the day? What do you say we call it a night for now?"

"And get into bed with you? No way! In your dreams!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most blood I've ever lost was when I cut my hand with a pair of big scissors back in kindergarten. That was a long time ago, so my memory of how it feels to lose a ton of blood. If anyone was offended with my portrayal of people lacking blood, please know that was not my intention. I could have done research on it, but like I said, this story is sort of an "in the moment" thing for me.
> 
> Maribelle is such fun to write. If you asked me what I was thinking when I wrote out those insults, I'd say I was probably on a sugar crash or something.
> 
> Anyway, I wish you all well, and stay safe!


	3. Snapdragons at Sunrise

Waking up was always a pleasant experience for Maribelle. From the warm kiss of the golden rays on her cheeks as the sun crept over the horizon, to the soft embrace of the sheets trapping her in a cocoon of silk and the strong arms wrapped around her shoulders.

Her eyes flew open. Her mouth followed not a second later, and she shrieked.

An eruption of limbs ensued. Arms and legs flew everywhere, tugging the sheet this way and that, and she was fairly sure a finger got stuck in her mouth.

By the end of it all, she found her back on the ground, her dress soaking in the dewdrops scattered over the grass.

"What in Naga's name was that?" she yelled. She tried to push herself away and was rewarded with a sharp pain in her leg.

"My face..." the man groaned, sitting up.

"What? No!"

"You don't hold back, do you?" The man rubbed a hand over his face, half in an effort to wipe the sleep from his eyes, half to check for cuts. "Do you ever trim your nails? I don't think anyone's allowed to have nails as long as yours unless they're old and wrinkly and spend their days tending to a cauldron."

Maribelle looked offended at that. "Excuse me? I am not a witch! My nails are a perfectly acceptable length for a lady." She huffed, and she reached up to rub the back of her head. "Immaculate and graceful, as someone of my standing should be. That, and it's a fine weapon for fending off lechers."

"Me? A lecher? Buttercup, I would never!" The man paused, and he looked away. "Not intentionally, anyway."

"Then how did I end up in your bed, hm? What, are you going to say I just threw myself in with someone like you?"

The man coughed suspiciously. "Say, that bandage looks awfully loose. You wouldn't mind if I took care of it for you?"

"Don't stray from the point!"

As soon as the words left her mouth, Maribelle hissed as her sharp nail brushed against raw skin. She brought her hand back around, and found the tip dipped in red. The man had been right about her bandages being loose, not that she'd ever admit it.

She tried reaching around to tighten it herself, but her hands clumsily fumbled around each other, slipping over the cloth and into her golden hair. Any attempt to grasp at the ends slipped through her fingers, and when she did grab one, she could never seem to find the other.

"Sweetheart, you don't have eyes on the back of your head," the man said. "Let me–"

"I'm fine! I've got it all under control," Maribelle snapped, just as the ends of the bandages slipped out of her hands yet again.

Heat began to build in her cheeks, just like her temper. _So I can tie a bandage around someone else's wounds, but not my own?_ she thought. _How idiotic!_

One more time, she tried to get a grip on her bandage. She managed to snag the ends easily. When it came to tying it together, her damned fingers were less useful than a quill drenched in grease.

"Naga dammit!" With a frustrated scream, she hurled the piece of cloth across the tent.

The man glanced over at the bandage lying in the grass. When his gaze slid back to her, she gave him a glare.

Sighing, the man bent over to pluck the bandage from the floor. "This is my only shirt, you realize?" he said. "I don't have any others you could tear up, should you lose this."

"Oh please. You have trousers, don't you?"

The man froze. His hand fell to his belt, clutching it tightly. "You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't. But wouldn't you?"

"What does that even mean?"

Maribelle rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm sure you'd love to tell your comrades how you 'tore up your pants for a lady', no?"

His face lit up like a candle. "No! I mean... you see..."

"Don't try to act modest. You dragged me into your bed!"

"I didn't! If anything, you dragged me!"

"That sounds nothing like me," Maribelle said. "Surely you must have heard wrong. I'd never do something so vulgar."

"Yes, well I was going to let you have the mat to yourself, but you kept insisting it was 'improper to let me sleep on the floor'."

Maribelle frowned. "Nevermind, that does sound like me. But you should have stopped me!"

"As I said, you don't hold back. When you grab on with those sharp nails of yours, you never let go."

"Too weak to pry yourself out of my grasp?"

"More like you were clinging to me, like you were afraid I'd leave you alone."

"Oh, shut your trap and come over here. My bandages won't re-apply themselves, you realize."

The man chuckled nervously. Maribelle thought the feeling was a little misplaced; if anything, she should be the nervous one, especially as he disappeared from her sight.

"Remember to shift the bandage, alright? I don't want the same bloody spot pressed to the back of my head," she said.

"Oh, yes! I remembered."

From the shuffling she saw from the corner of the eye, she could tell he hadn't. It wasn't as if she could fault him, though. She huffed, and reached down to scratch an itch on her leg.

"Is your leg alright? You're scratching it an awful lot."

"I'd know if my leg wasn't alright. As long as it's been cleaned, a little itch is nothing to fret about." Her lips pulled down after a second of thought. "I did tell you to clean my wounds, right?"

"Clean your what?" The bandage tightened around her head.

The sound that came out of her mouth felt almost inhuman. Her head snapped over to the man, her eyes burning holes into his skulls, and he backed away immediately.

"Is there something wrong?"

"You dolt! You need to clean the wound before applying the bandage so it doesn't get infected!" Maribelle took a swing at him. He leaned back, and her fist met air.

"Hey," he said, raising his hands before him, "I'm not used to dressing my own wounds."

"Really? Who? The women you seduce? Is that why you resort to philandering?"

The man looked quite taken aback by that. "Do you truly take me for someone so uncouth? Flirting is just good fun for me. Besides, I have friends." His face twisted into a grimace. "I had friends," he said a second later.

Maribelle's eyebrow shot up. "I find that hard to believe. I mean, who in their right mind would put up with your idiocy? That's what I'd like to know."

"Me too." The laugh that followed was oddly dry.

"Well? Are you going to finish, or am I going to have to spend the day with a bandage hanging halfway off my head?"

"I'll get to it, don't worry buttercup." The man leaned back over, and resumed wrapping her bandages.

A minute passed in sweet blissful silence. Every second the man kept his mouth shut was a second she didn't have to spend listening to his incessant flirting, which was why when she saw him open his mouth, she almost groaned in frustration.

"It isn't that bad, is it?"

"Oh sure, I've always wanted to have my leg hewn off. It's such a burden, having to lug around all that extra weight."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you felt that way."

Maribelle shot him a nasty look. "I wasn't being serious, you buffon!"

"You weren't?" The man blinked, and his palm came up to rest on his forehead. "My apologies. I was... a little lost in thought."

"Hah. I doubt enough goes on in that skull of yours for you to get lost in."

"Did I say lost in thought? I meant distracted by your radiance, sunshine."

"Oh, you can keep your flattery to yourself." Maribelle glanced away and sighed. "But if you must know, if you fail to clean a wound properly, an infection could spread around the wound and render it unusable. Normally, a heal staff would take care of such troubles, but I broke my last one, so unless you've got any lying around, I need to see a cleric at the next town over. And that's not taking into account any internal ailments and illnesses."

"So, it is bad."

"It wouldn't be as bad if you'd stop gawking and finish wrapping that bandage. I want to get to that town as soon as possible, you hear?"

This time, it was the man who sighed. "As you wish, buttercup."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not my intention that these chapters are getting shorter, I just didn't feel like dragging these on any longer than necessary. Once a scene has played out, there's no use in adding any extra baggage. Hopefully, I'll be able to have more for the next chapter.
> 
> I said I'd write for this story in my free time. Funny how that works out, since I didn't have much free time last week. But I did manage to get something out in the end, so that's all that matters.
> 
> Until next time, I wish you all well, and stay safe!


	4. Roses by the Roadside

The hours stretched on for what felt like an eternity. The trees above all looked exactly the same, and nothing was entertaining about watching the dirt path beside them for rocks. With nothing else to fill her head and keep her troubled thoughts away, Maribelle found herself plagued by a single question:

"Are we there yet?"

"We're no closer than we were five minutes ago," the man above her said. "Or ten minutes before that. Or eight minutes before that."

"You make me sound like an impatient ingrate."

"Of course you aren't, buttercup! You're just a little... forgetful. That's all." His laugh was dry.

Maribelle scowled up at him. "I am not forgetful!"

"Then maybe we could talk about something else? Like... your favorite tea, perhaps?"

"My favorite tea? Well, I do enjoy a cup of chamomile in the morning."

"Really?" The man chuckled. "What a surprise. I have a friend who likes it as well. What a small world we live in!"

Maribelle crinkled her nose. "Yes, well I assume you might know how long it takes to brew? Assuming this 'friend' of yours ever had–"

Suddenly the man jerked to a stop. He held up a hand before her face, shushing her.

Her response was to scowl. "Don't shush me!"

"No no, wait; do you hear that?"

Maribelle leaned forward, but all she could hear was the faint birdsong from above them. As she craned her ear, however, a faint clicking began to emerge from the calm. Clicking, like wood against stone.

The man glanced up at Maribelle. She looked back. Together, they peered down the road as a small, horse-drawn carriage appeared behind them.

"A carriage! Oh, that will make things so much easier!"

The man chuckled. "Yeah. My arms were getting tired. It'd be a relief once I can get all this weight off me."

"Was that a jab at my weight?"

"No. No, it wasn't."

Maribelle shook her head, and she started tapping against the man's arm. "You do have enough to pay for a ride, right?"

"Ah. Well," the man said, stiffening, "I was hoping you could pay. Purse is a little tight."

Maribelle frowned, suspicious. "It may look like it, but I'm not made of gold, you know."

"I know, I know. If you're so against it, I can always sell my sword."

"No, it's fine. I won't rob you of your livelihood, I'm not a monster." A long sigh passed through her lips as she reached down into her pockets. A small bag, heavy with gold, emerged from the folds, and she showed it to the man. His smile quirked, growing a little wider.

They both looked back up, but the carriage had already passed them and was growing smaller with each passing second.

A look passed between them. That wasn't good, they knew. But shouldn't have needed to be said that it was only going to get worse if they just stood there like a pair of cows in the pasture.

The man began frantically waving his hand, taking off after it. "Hey! Over here!"

"Wait!" Maribelle yelled, keeping a tight hold around the man. "Down here!"

To their relief, the driver seemed to hear them. It slowed, and by the time they reached it, it had come to a complete halt. Quickly, the man made his way to the side of the carriage. The driver watched them approach, his hair streaked with grey as he gazed down upon them with an expectant look.

"Lost your way to the honeymoon, I assume?" he said as soon as they stopped in front of him. "Don't be embarrassed if you are. It happened to me and my wife as well."

Maribelle exchanged a look with the man. A message passed between them.

"She's just a–"

"He's my son," she blurted out.

Apparently, the message hadn't been clear enough.

Their eyes locked again. The man raised an eyebrow. Maribelle shook her head.

"Is this something I ought to be worried about?" the nobleman called from above.

"Not at all," the man said. "She's just my little sister."

"Your little sister?" Maribelle almost choked on the words.

The driver's eyes narrowed. "Really? Your 'little sister' doesn't seem too happy with the fact."

"That's because she doesn't like to be reminded. She's a little sick in the head, you see, and she thinks she's older than she is."

"I'm not crazy!"

"That's what a crazy person would say."

Maribelle threw up her free hand and groaned. At the very least he hadn't tried to question why she had wanted him silent, so there were small mercies. Very small mercies, but mercies nonetheless.

"So, I take it you want a ride?" the driver said. "Where will we be heading?"

"To the next town over," the man replied. "We're taking her to see the doctor, you see. Our mother hopes he'll be able to find a cure for her problem."

"Are you, now? Well, I know a thing or two about that town, and if anyone can find a cure for your sister, it'd be Doctor Maxie."

"Doctor Maxie, that's who we'll be seeing! Mother says he's quite the intelligent man."

"Maxie is a woman."

The man's mouth clamped shut. He opened it a second later, then stopped to consider his words. Finally, he said, "Yes. That's what I meant to say."

"Oh for–" Maribelle's face twisted into anger. "It seems I'm not the only one here who needs their head checked!"

"In any case," the man said, "if you could take us there, we'd greatly appreciate it."

"Then you're more than welcome to climb aboard, as long as you can pay for it," the driver said.

"What is your fee, then?"

"Two hundred."

The man's smile faltered. His head leaned over to Maribelle and whispered, "Is that expensive? I've never paid for a carriage before, so I wouldn't know?"

"Expensive?" Maribelle barked a laugh, unafraid of being overheard. "That's practically robbery!"

"So we shouldn't take it, then?"

In an instant, Maribelle deflated, her shoulders falling back as she slumped in his arms. "I mean, it's not as if we have any other choice." Raising her purse to his face, she muttered, "Ten coins should be enough."

Keeping an eye on the driver, the man reached into her bag and plucked the coins one by one. The driver extended a palm, and as he watched the man drop the coins into his waiting hand, he smiled.

"A man has to make a living, you know."

Maybe it was the fact that her purse felt twice as light, but for some strange reason, Maribelle suddenly found the driver's voice grating on her ears.

"Well, not all of us make it a competition to see who can take siphon as much weight from everyone else's wallets!" she snapped out.

The driver raised his hands. "Hey, I just take people from one place to another. Any gold I take," he shook his own wallet, rattling the coins inside, "is just a bonus for me."

"Oh, rub it in, will you?"

"Buttercup," the man cut her off, already stepping up to the carriage door, "let's get going, shall we?"

A bitter retort for him surged into her mouth, but she bit it down. As annoying as he could be, he was better than the driver, and any verbal lashing she gave him now would leave a bitter taste.

"Very well," she said through gritted teeth.

With his arms already occupied with holding her, Maribelle took it upon herself to pull it open for the both of them. The man carried her inside, letting her gently down onto the cushions.

The door had barely closed behind them before the carriage lurched forward. The sound of the wooden wheels rolled over the rocky path filled the cabin, jostling them as it moved along, as all of a sudden, Maribelle found herself with an extra two hundred pounds lying across her lap.

The man looked to his right, his left, then finally looked up at her. In the slowest three seconds of his life, he racked his mind for a witty response.

All that left his mouth was: "Please don't throw me."

Maribelle shrieked, and she threw him across the cabin. The man caught himself before he hit the wall. He held himself up against it, before he let himself slowly fall back into his own seat. They stared at each other for the longest time, still frozen in the moment, neither sure how to break away.

Maribelle was the first to let her gaze fall. "I'm so sorry. I was startled."

"It's fine." The man rubbed his arm. "I've felt worse."

"It's not. I should not have reacted like that, not after you covered for me. It is simply improper."

The man's lips quirked up. "Hey. Anything for you, buttercup."

"You'd say that to any girl you meet."

"I won't deny that. Unless... that bothers you in any way?"

"Gods no." Maribelle snorted. "I simply wanted to say thank you. That's all."

"It's nothing to worry yourself about. Not unless you're some sort of dangerous criminal." The man paused. "You're not, are you?"

"Well... no."

"You don't sound sure about that. If you aim to deceive, you won't be able to do it if even you don't believe your words."

"That's not it at all! It's just that... some people may not agree with that."

"So you're on the run, then?"

"From some less than reputable people, yes."

"Well then, you won't have to worry about them, buttercup! As long as I'm around, I'll keep you safe!"

"Oh, how noble," Maribelle scoffed. "I assume this is how you get other women to swoon at your feet?"

"Yeesh." The man winced. "You don't pull your punches, do you?"

"Not if it keeps away philanderers like you."

"Hah. I can see that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back!
> 
> So I didn't write for a week. Not for a lack of trying, but because I was busy with school stuff. And also for a lack of trying, because when writer's block hits me, it hits hard. Hopefully, I'll be able to get out more soon, but until then, I hope you all enjoyed reading what little I've managed to do this week.
> 
> As always, I wish you all well, and stay safe!


	5. Carried Away by the Carnations

"We're here!"

The cabin lurched to a halt. Maribelle, having seen it from a mile away, clamped down on the side, and her arm held her in place as she jerked forward.

The man was not nearly as well prepared. With a yelp, he flew across the carriage and crashed into the opposite wall.

As he lay dazed on the floor, Maribelle leaned over him. "What's the matter? Have you never taken a carriage before?"

"No, actually," he mumbled. "How can anyone prefer this to horseback? It's much faster, and not nearly as bumpy."

"Laziness, I suppose. You wouldn't believe how many people I know who wouldn't want to put in the effort to learn how to ride a horse."

"Ugh. I don't feel well. I think I'm going to be sick."

Maribelle pulled herself away. "Well go be sick somewhere else!"

"I don't think I'll have a choice..."

"Then don't think about it! If you take your mind off it, you can hold it back!"

"As much as I'd hate to be a downer, talking about it is not going to make it any–oh gods..."

He didn't look to be bluffing, not with the way he lurched back. As she hissed, Maribelle glanced wildly about for something to make the situation better. Maybe she could give him a bag to hold it in? But the only one nearby was her purse, and just thinking about that made _her_ queasy.

Then, an idea.

Digging past the gold coins swimming around her purse, she pulled out a smaller pouch of candy and thrust it forward. "Take these!"

"Unless it's an elixir, I think I can stomach it."

"It'll help with the sickness, dolt. Look!" Without waiting for his reply, she let a caramel roll out and into her other hand.

"Candy?"

"It's medicine."

"That looks like... caramel."

"Well, it is, but caramels can help with stomach pain." When he didn't look convinced, which was fair since she was making this up on the fly. But he didn't know that, so she added, "I studied medicine. I know what I'm talking about."

"I... I'm fine."

"Just take it!"

Maribelle tried to push out of her seat and shove it into his hands. A jolt of pain had her muscles locking up instead, and she tripped with a yelp, landing not-so-gracefully on the floor.

"Snrk."

She felt her cheeks heat up. Anyone would feel embarrassed if they were in her situation, yet that didn't stop her from feeling ashamed about it. At least her companion was polite enough to not comment.

"You know, this clumsy act suits you poorly."

Or not. At least he sounded a lot better now.

"Did that get your mind off your stomach pains?" she asked.

The man paused. "I suppose it did."

Maribelle wanted to cheer. All that came out instead was a weak groan.

From the corner of her eye, Maribelle saw movement. The carriage floor shook as the man knelt down beside her.

"Need a hand, buttercup?"

"I'm fine!"

She pushed herself off the floor. On shaky legs, she hauled herself to her feet, and once she was sure she could stand, she took a step forward.

Her wounded leg buckled. She toppled forward, her face stopping inches from the floor as two firm hands grabbed her shoulders and held her tight.

"I can handle myself," she muttered.

"Let's just err to the side of caution. I wouldn't want you to mar your... ah... pretty face."

Of course he would say something like that. Maribelle would have protested further, but the pain in her leg forced her teeth closed with a hiss.

One step at a time, he brought her out the door and back onto solid ground. Heads turned their way–after all, a horse-drawn carriage was hardly subtle, after all–but once they saw her, ragged and dirty as she was, an arm draped over the man's shoulders, most of them made the effort to hide their curiosity.

The last thing she wanted was to be seen in such a state, though she supposed people would be people. That didn't stop her from sweeping a frosty glare at all those in her line of sight.

"So... ah... where do we go?"

"Hm?" Maribelle snapped back to attention. Quickly scanning over the town center they'd found themselves in and the people wandering over it, she said, "We need to find a place to stay."

"Will that do?"

She followed his finger to a sign at the end of the street reading: "l'hotel jaune". The building behind it was far more ramshackle than she would've liked. A few of the windows were boarded up, and part of the ceiling had turned into a gaping hole.

"Absolutely not," she huffed. "Is there anywhere else we can stay?"

"I... don't think so? I mean, it isn't as if a small town like this would need a second inn."

"Fine then. Take us there."

As much as it pained her to admit, she had no other option. As run-down as it looked, it was still marginally better than spending another night in a tent with the insufferable flirt, and it was only a short walk away. She didn't want to spend the entire day dragging around a leg that hurt like nothing else.

People were sensible enough to let them through without making a fuss. No one was rude enough to trip the girl bleeding out over the road. For that, she was a little grateful, but no less irritated by the constant looks she got as they passed by, and by the time they reached the door, she could have sworn she heard someone whispering about her.

Whatever rumors they were passing along, she could only hope none of them recognized who she was.

Not that it mattered as her companion pushed the door open and led her inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like it was about time I went and updated this fic. So I did.
> 
> As fun as it was to write this chapter (and going back to brush up on my French), some of the jokes felt a little more miss than usual. If anything here is completely egregious, feel free to let me know. It really lets me write better stuff you can enjoy.
> 
> Until I return, I wish you all the best, and stay safe!


	6. Foxgloves and Faux Relations

Thankfully, the only other person present was the attendant behind the desk. A girl, bored, blonde, and teetering on the verge of falling asleep. She couldn't have been much older than either of them, but all the stress lines on her face made it hard to tell.

And they certainly didn't get any lighter the second she spotted the two of them walk through the door.

Maribelle felt for the girl, she really did. As a member of the Shepherds, she had to deal with all sorts of crazy people every day, and it took a tremendous effort not to snap after the thirtieth time someone put the heal staves in the wrong box. This girl probably had to deal with much of the same, so Maribelle understood that having to talk to what she must have thought was another pair of unstable idiots was the last thing she wanted to do.

That being said, she needed somewhere to lie down, and whether she liked it or not, this girl was in the only place they could get a room in.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but the girl cut him off with a raised hand. "Don't tell me," she said. "If you're about to tell me you two are married and are here for the discount that expired a year ago, the brothel is down the road and out of the city."

"I–No, that's not what I was about to–" The man paused, taking a full minute for the right words to come to his head. "What made you think I was going to do that?"

"You can never be too safe. Not today, at least. Anyway," the receptionist sighed, "if you're not here for that, what can I do for you?"

"I'd like a room for me and my..." The man glanced down at her. "Daughter."

"What?" Maribelle hissed, up in his face in an instant. "That wasn't what we said before!"

"It wasn't?"

"If she's not your daughter, what is she?" the receptionist droned, fiddling with a key ring she'd pulled out from her desk.

Maribelle huffed indignantly. "I'm his older sister."

"I don't believe that was it either."

"Well, it's a small difference, isn't it?"

"Oh yes." The receptionist rolled her eyes. "I can see the family resemblance."

Shooting a glare at the man, Maribelle cursed. "Gods dammit. You should have dyed your hair blonde!"

"And just where would I find something to dye my hair blonde, sweetheart?" the man said, and he folded his arms.

"I don't know! You should have thought this through!"

"I should have thought this through? I don't know what else I was supposed to do back there. You wouldn't prefer I let you pass out on the street, would you?"

Beside them, the receptionist pinched the bridge of her nose. "I see I shouldn't have said that. Look," she said, "I'm not going to ask any questions. You can continue arguing about whatever this is, so long as you do it outside my earshot. Please, just get a room and get out."

After a few gold coins over the counter, the receptionist handed them a key and pointed them to their room. Maribelle didn't relax until the door was firmly shut behind them.

"Family resemblance! Why didn't I think of that?" She threw her hands up in frustration. Beneath her, the straw mattress crinkled.

"Hey now, you can't exactly blame yourself for that," the man said, leaning up against a wall. "Your head's got to be a little fuzzy from all that blood loss. Trust me, I've been there."

"You?" Maribelle looked him up and down. "I'd never have imagined."

"Trust me, sunflower, I've had my fair share of grievous injuries."

"That doesn't sound like something you should brag about."

"Oh, I'm not bragging. This one time, I had a stab wound that reached all the way through my stomach."

"That must have taken a very good cleric to fix that up for you. A wound as big as that isn't easy to fix."

"And how would you know?"

"I happen to be a cleric myself, thank you, and a very good one at that!" Then Maribelle frowned. "You're not just making this up, are you?"

"Come on, I'd never lie to someone like you!"

Maribelle groaned. "Gah! Nevermind. All this talk of bleeding out hasn't helped this wound heal any faster!" Digging a hand into her dwindling supply of gold, Maribelle piled a bunch into the palm of her hand and held them out for the man to take. "Make yourself useful and go into town. See if you can find a shop with any vulenaries in stock."

"You..." The man frowned, and he sifted the gold through his fingers. "Alright. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. I won't run off with this, you have my word."

"Ah!" Maribelle straightened. "And just in case you get any ideas about running off–"

"I said I wouldn't."

"I heard you, but just in case," she said, "I'll have you know that I am a noblewoman of considerable wealth. If I make it out alive, I shall reward you handsomely."

The man blinked. "Okay," was all he had to say.

Maribelle felt like something like that deserved a little more response. Perhaps he was starstruck? Too dazed by the revelation that he had nothing to say?

The man walked back to the door, and as he pulled it open, he stopped. "What am I supposed to say if people ask questions? About you and me, I mean."

"What? Oh, tell them you are my betrothed."

The man choked. Maribelle let him, only the tiniest bit amused as she watched him stutter out, "I–I can't say that!"

"Of course you can. It's not as if it matters."

"But how am I supposed to act?"

"No different than you already are. You're already a shameless flirt, I'm sure you'll figure it out on your own."

"Well–I mean..." The man sighed. As he ran a hand through his hair, he said, "You know, all this reminds me a lot of the love stories my mother used to tell me."

"Your mother was a storyteller?"

"The best in the kingdom. She could tell all kinds of stories, but love stories were her favorite. You know, the ones where a dashing man saves a damsel in distress, they travel the world together, and by the end, they fall in love."

"Well, we're not characters in a love story, so don't get any ideas," Maribelle huffed. "I'm here because I'm wounded, and I need someone to help me get back on my feet. You're here because I'm paying you to stay."

"Oh come now, buttercup. Thinking like that's no fun. I saved you from distress, haven't I? And we've already done a bit of traveling together." He motioned around them. "We've even got ourselves a cramped room in a run-down inn that'll force us to sleep in uncomfortable proximity–a staple in my mother's love stories."

"What are you talking about?" Maribelle asked. She glanced around, and that's when she noticed that the room they were in was, in fact, rather small. They wouldn't be able to stand more than ten feet apart, no matter where they moved, and that wasn't counting for the one bed that Maribelle was sitting on.

"Oh, you did not just–"

But the man had already shut the door behind him, leaving Maribelle to boil in her anger alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I actually forgot this story existed. I'm pretty sure I put it in my notes somewhere to get this story done once I started taking time off big writing pieces, but then I forgot.
> 
> I'll note this doesn't feel like my best dialogue work, character-wise. Comes with the territory of being unused to writing these characters, though with how much downtime I have now, you can expect me to work on this story a bit more.
> 
> Until then, I wish you all well, and stay safe!


	7. A Gardenia’s Gentle Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: brief mention of hand-holding in this chapter. Reader discretion is advised.

"Hey. Buttercup."

Maribelle awoke with a start. She sat up, then immediately regretted it as a lance of pain shot up her leg. She hissed, ignoring the pain as she pushed the bandage back into place.

"Oh, sorry, should I have knocked?"

Maribelle looked up. Chrom stood frozen by the doorway, a startled look of his own on his face. Maribelle's face lit up, and for a moment, she dared to hope he'd come back for her. When she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, though, he vanished, the mercenary from before standing in his place.

She tried to hide her disappointment. No need to insult him, not if he was stuck here taking care of her. The man still gave her a worried look.

"Is... is there something wrong?" he asked.

"Oh no, it's nothing," Maribelle laughed, weakly brushing him off.

"You say that, but your face tells a different story."

"I said it's nothing!" she snapped. "Now, did you get any vulneraries or not?"

The man winced. "Yeah. About that..."

"What? Were they out or something?" Maribelle huffed, turning toward the window by her side.

When she didn't receive a response, she narrowed her eyes, and she glanced back at him. He met her gaze with a guilty look, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Maribelle groaned. "Out of all the places I could've ended up, I had to be stuck in the one town without vulneraries!"

"Ah–"

"Do you know how many places I've been to? I've visited cities and towns in Ylisse, Plegia, and Ferox. And any time I visited the shops there, do you know what was the one thing they always had in stock? Vulneraries!"

"The thing is–"

"Some of them only sold tomes, some of them only sold axes. There was even that odd shop that only sold Falchion replicas, but not once did I ever find them out of vulneraries, or concoctions, or elixirs, or any of those things! Do you know why? Because they're a necessity, that's why!"

"Ahem."

Maribelle paused. She glanced back over at the man, a flat look on his face, and it occurred to her somewhere within the fuzzy depths of her mind that he may or may not have been speaking.

"But," she cleared her throat, "I'm... letting myself get carried away here. Was there anything you needed me to hear?"

"I purchased this," he said, and he pulled out a heal staff from behind his back.

Maribelle blinked. "It's better than nothing, I suppose." She shifted her position on the bed, moving the tangle of cloth her sheets had become out from under her. "Well, don't just stand there! Bring it over."

The man shuffled over to her and held it out. Maribelle could only look unimpressed. When he looked back at her, confused, she raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you going to use it?"

"I thought you were supposed to use it," he replied. "You said you were a healer, did you not?"

"Oh yes, and I suppose you would expect a midwife to deliver her own child, or a surgeon to cut open their own insides." Maribelle crossed her arms. "Didn't your friend ever tell you people can't use heal staves on themselves?"

"Ah... no, not really. He's not really a sociable guy," he said, reaching up to scratch behind his head.

Maribelle blinked. "Fair enough. I wouldn't want to do much talking with someone like you either."

"Hey!" The man frowned, and he waved the staff in front of her face. "Am I supposed to help or not?"

"What do you think? You won't get your payment if I'm dead!"

"Alright, alright!" The man leaned forward, irritation clear on his face. He lowered the bright blue bulb at the end over her bandage, before he stopped.

"What is it now?" she asked.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"What are–" Maribelle paused.

A bunch of things immediately came to mind. Medical terms, slight twitches, odd grips, none of which they had the time for. Healing came naturally for her now, but she couldn't, for the life of her, recall how or why those habits had been instilled into her.

"Just... uh..." Maribelle grabbed the head of the staff and waved it over her bandaged leg. "I think you want to try to push yourself through the staff."

"I'm sorry. What?"

Gripping the side of her head, Maribelle groaned. "Oh, this is going to be a pain."

* * *

The receptionist already felt a headache coming on as she trudged up the stairs. Just when she thought she could leave for the night, the inn's owner had told her two of their guests had left a sword at the front desk, and ordered her to return it to them. Why he couldn't be bothered to do it himself was beyond her.

"I don't get paid enough for this," she muttered, her foot barely grazing over the top step. "When I get there, they better open up, or I'm keeping this damn sword to myself."

Blearily, she counted the doors down the hall one by one. When she reached the end, though, she realized she'd completely forgotten which room the sword's owners had taken up and groaned. She leaned back against the wall, taking a moment to try to recall the room number from the tired depths of her mind, when she heard voices slip out from behind her.

"Just what do you think you're doing? Do you think you're going to reach anything through the fabric! Take it off first, you dolt!"

"Hey, I've never done this kind of thing before!"

"That's no excuse! Anyone could have understood– Ouch! Be more gentle with that, won't you?"

"Maybe if you stopped moving so much, I'd be able to get a better grip!"

"Oh forget it, I'll just guide you through it myself."

"Hey now, there's no need to hold my hand through the whole process. I'm not a child, you realize."

"Maybe I might have less trouble seeing that if you stopped doing everything wrong! Here, give me your staff, and–"

The receptionist pushed herself off the wall. She glanced out the window, then up at room number, confirming that, yes, this was the same couple who had checked in earlier this afternoon.

"I guess he didn't listen when I told him we needed thicker walls," she said to herself. "And I thought it would have taken at least a day for anything to happen."

Maybe she was just getting old at the ripe age of nineteen.

And with that thought, she pushed off the wall and headed back toward the stairs. The hotel owner could return the sword himself. It was time for her to leave. She had seen everything.

* * *

Maribelle hummed, impressed as she rubbed a hand over the healed skin on her thigh. "Well, I'm certainly glad that's done with."

"Yeah." The man wrung his hands and shuffled his feet. "So, how'd I do?"

"How did you do?" Maribelle tried to move her leg, and she winced when her movement came out slow and shaky. "It still feels stiff, and I can't feel anything over here... but," she added as she saw his face fall, "for someone who's never done this before, I've seen a lot worse."

"So... I did good?"

"You did fine. Stop looking so dour, mister..."

Maribelle hesitated. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she had never asked his name.

"I never did get your name, you know."

"Ah. We were in a bit of a rush, so it's no big deal."

"Please," she said. "As a noblewoman, it is only proper that I know the names of my traveling companions, even if they are only staying for pay."

"If you insist, then." The man glanced around, his eyes flitting from corner to corner, before they landed on her, deep, hazel, and almost steady. "My name," he said, "is–"

A loud crack cut him off, splitting the air like a thunder spell ripping itself apart from the inside out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter we descend further into crack territory.
> 
> I'll be honest, this is probably "The Princess and the Fraud" levels of "It's a lot less funny than I think it is" unfunny, but hey, an opportunity presented itself and I took it. And who knew Gardenia was an actual flower, I thought that was just a gym leader from Pokemon!
> 
> Been juggling some projects between this and school stuff. Some may eventually see the light of day. And at least I didn't leave this fic alone for months on end, so there's that. Until next time, I wish you all well, and stay safe!


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